Late, Lamented
by Yvonne Next
Summary: Crossover between Canon and the Leslie Bricusse musical. What happened after Bella Moriarty fled from Lestrade? Did she ever return to torment the inhabitants of Baker Street?
1. The Arrival

**Note: Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson, Professor Moriarty, Colonel Moran, and Herr Steiler are the creations of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.** **Mrs. Moriarty, Bella, and Maria are the property of Leslie Bricusse. In other words, if you recognize it, I probably don't own it. I have taken the liberty of expanding Bella's character a bit, but she's still not mine, unfortunately. **

The small carriage pulled into Meiringen just as the sun was setting. At the Englischerhof, Herr Steiler was looking over his accounts. The newfound love for skiing that the English seemed to have acquired would do wonders for Swiss innkeepers such as himself. It wasn't even December yet, and rooms were already filling up; mostly young men on holiday from university seeking adventure and exercise, but a few wealthy families as well. A boring lot they were, Steiler thought, boring but profitable.

Steiler tried not to think about the _other_ reason tourists came to his hotel. Certainly, that business about the Reichenbach Falls and Professor Moriarty invited many of Dr. Watson's more curious (and well-paying) readers to the area, but Steiler cared little for the thrill of detection and international intrigue that kept the rest of Europe on the edge of its collective seat. He liked managing his inn, he liked talking to people, and he liked the money that his successful business brought in. That, as far as he was concerned, was the only really important thing about the Englischerhof.

The woman who stepped into the small lobby of the inn instantly attracted Herr Steiler's attention for numerous reasons. She was tall and thin, with sharply-defined facial features and bright gray eyes. Fortune had apparently gifted this young lady in more than just beauty, Herr Steiler observed. It was plain from her dress and carriage that she was also wealthy and well-bred. There was only one thing wrong. She was traveling alone. No friends, no family, no clinging sweethearts with their bold declarations and pathetic attempts at poetry. Just her.

"I will require a room, please, Herr Steiler," the new arrival announced calmly in German.

The innkeeper had been so busy staring at his newest guest that he had completely forgotten why she might have come in the first place.

"Y--you are aware," he floundered, "that it is extremely rare for us to let a room to an unaccompanied woman, Miss…uh, Miss--"

"Spellgrove," she replied matter-of-factly, "Miss Bella Spellgrove. My family would join me, however, they are…indisposed at present. I myself am taking a short leave from my life as a portraitist in London in order to reassess my priorities."

Steiler was shocked by her speech . She sounded like a businessman or a politician…something grand and official like that; certainly not like any lady he had ever encountered. Just as he was about to refuse her, however, Bella Spellgrove reached into a large bag she was carrying and placed a small piece of paper on his desk. Steiler's eyes lit up. It was a bank order for a rather large sum of money, payable to Herr Henry Steiler of the Meiringen Englischerhof!

"Miss Spellgrove, are you certain of this?" the incredulous innkeeper asked, mystified as to how even a highly successful London artist could obtain sufficient funds as to pay for three months at a Swiss hotel.

"I will require the room for some time, Herr Steiler," the bewitching lady said with a slight smile. "I am quite certain you understand."

As the porter was bringing in Miss Spellgrove's possessions, Steiler tried to figure out her situation. If her family was ill, as she suggested, why was she not caring for them? If they were dead, why was there no kind friend accompanying her? And the money--where did it come from? If she was really so successful at her art, why had he not heard of her? And there was no question in his mind that the lady was no heiress. In his limited experience, Steiler knew that wealthy young heiresses always had would-be suitors fawning over them. And a beauty like Bella Spellgrove--why, between her looks and wealth, she must have broken the hearts of all of the eligible bachelors in London!

Bella herself was busily helping the porter with her possessions. As the last of her small trunks was brought up to her room, she hurried into the lobby with a large stack of sketchbooks. She was so engaged in conversation--apparently Steiler was not the only one to notice this enigmatic new guest!--that she did not notice the folded piece of paper slip out from a book near the bottom of the pile.

In many cases, Steiler did not believe in prying into his guests' lives. In order to run a successful business, one needed trust and reliance. Now, however, was different in his mind. What if the lady had gained her wealth illegally? What if she picked the pockets of those who sat for her? It was for the good of the honest people of Meiringen, Steiler told himself, that he was examining what must be some private correspondence. He carefully unfolded the paper. Indeed, it was a letter. _Dear Miss Belladonna Moriarty,_ it read, _I regret to inform you that your father passed away in a tragic accident at the falls on May 4, 1891_. It was signed "Sebastian Moran."

Herr Steiler very nearly fainted.


	2. Her Last Goodbye

She gazed outside the window thoughtfully. Why, she asked herself, did she even bother coming to Switzerland in the first place? And why Meiringen? Was she so morbid, so obsessed with the past that the first town she thought of to run to after escaping Lestrade was _Meiringen_?

Bella had never been to this part of Switzerland before, but it didn't matter. The whole country took her back to a different time, a different life. She closed her eyes, and a new scene appeared before her. A young women in her late teens, surrounded by books and trunks. It was her parents' little house in Geneva. Her family, reminding her of every possible thing she might need, just in case she forgot something….

_ "What if Strichner refuses to let me in? What ifI get there and find out it's just some mistake, that the meant to admit a Bertrand or…or Bartholomew instead of a Bella? What if—" _

_ Her parents looked amused. Bella hated that. Years would pass before Mama and Father would see each other, and, w__hen reunited, they'd act as if everything was…normal. It wasn't normal; Bella knew perfectly well it wasn't normal. Normal people do not divorce each other simply to avoid the threat of blackmail. Normal people do not send letters to universities threatening to do something dreadful unless their eldest daughter is admitted as a mathematics students. Normal girls, for that matter, do not study mathematics. There was a whole list in Bella's mind about what was strange about her family. This was only the start of it. _

_ Her father sighed, interrupting her thoughts. "I wrote to Herr Strichner, remember? He's perfectly happy to admit you to his courses; absolutely looking forward to meeting you."_

_ It took a number of coaches and trains, but, by the time they reached Heidelberg, Bella had almost forgotten her nervousness about being one of the university's only female students. _

_ Professor Moriarty waited until his daughter was settled in, had a brief talk with the chancellor and a few members of the faculty, and then said goodbye to Bella._

_ "Here's my address in London," he had said, "And do remember your mother and sister; they will miss you terribly, I'm sure."_

_ Bella wasn't sure about this at all, but she took the paper, slipped it into one of her notebooks, and promised that she'd write….to all of them. At that, her father wished her the best of luck, and departed. She had no way of knowing, as she stood and waved farewell, the turn that her life would take. _

Despite their frequent correspondance, Bella would never see her father again. The last letter from him was sent from Meiringen, from this very hotel. He had promised to show for her commencement ceremony in a few weeks. He had promised to help her find a teaching position somewhere. She had written back, teasing him about what business he could possibly be conducting in such a small, out of the way hamlet.

Bella opened her eyes again, blinking back a flood of tears.


End file.
